The Double-Oh with a secret
by skyfallat221b
Summary: based off a gifset I made for tumblr / An agent from MI-6, who keeps coming back from the dead… James Bond obviously has a secret, hasn't he?
1. Chapter 1 - The Agent and M

« And how the hell did you find out where I lived? »

« The same way I found out your name. I thought "M" was randomly assigned. I had no idea it stood for... »

« Utter one more syllable and I'll have you killed. »

Well. That went well, Bond thought as he left M's flat, after being thoroughly reminded that his new position wasn't supposed to bring on shame and hate to MI6. He pulled out the keys to his car, toying with them in the lift, before walking out onto the street. _How the hell did you find out where I lived..._ Well, it was easy enough when you had the abilities to understand technology like Bond did. Smirking to himself, he walked out of the lift and out into the rain. He pressed his fingers against the key, knowing the car would answer immediatly to the touch, and the door opened. This time, it was an Aston Martin DBS V12. A magnificent car, but even better when you knew what it could do. Bond had felt a little quirk in his heart when he remembered the times where he'd been driving an Aston Martin DB5 around, but times had changed, and so had he.

He'd finally gotten the clearance, being upgraded to double-oh was always the tricky thing, but now he didn't have to pretend anymore. Playing with fire was funnier, and now that he'd gotten what his lifelong goal had been, it was time to begin with the newer missions. His first one ending in the magnificent mess he'd created by blowing up an embassy. But still, it had been rather fun, getting to test this body on the field, like it should be.

He liked the blonde hair, too. Like usual, he'd kept his blue eyes, but thought it would've been better to change the hair, least people would start getting suspicious. Everybody thought that James Bond was just an assigned field name, like Q or M were. Some of the younger recruits even trained under the impression that they'd be the next James Bond, but that was never going to happen. It was a miracle that nobody had figured out the truth, yet. Some had been close, incredibly close, but all of them had died.

Anyways.

« _Because these bastards want your head. And I'm seriously considering feeding you to them... And Bond... don't ever break into my house again._ »

No, he wouldn't. It had been a fun prank, but a necessary one. Having to get a face to face with M outside of MI6's buildings was always necessary when he came home from his first mission. It was one sort of tradition he liked to keep going everytime he changed face. Besides, he had to get to the Bahamas to find out who that Ellipsis text had been sent to. Easy enough, once he got to enter the coordinates of the Ocean Club into his GPS.

Bond pushed the keys into the ignition, and flipped his seat down to sleeping level, allowing him to slip down to the control room the car was hiding.

Of course it was, it was bigger on the inside.

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**So, how do you like it? Do you want more? I'll write more. Just leave me a chance to write it all.**

**Of course, it will go faster if you review ;)**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Agent at the Bahamas

**Second chapter is a-ready! Of course, I'll try my best to keep this fic alive with at least one update a week. What would help, was if I could get some reviews going on it. Mixing two 50 year old fandoms is a little bit difficult with loads of stuff to keep track of, so if you could at least tell me I'm doing okay, it would be awesome! **

**;D**

**Check out my tumblr ( skyfallat221b ) for sneak-peeks whenever I have a new chapter written down.**

Entering the coordinates to the Ocean Club was easy enough. When the console whined at the new location, Bond simply tapped her twice with a smile on his face.

« There, lovely thing, stop your whining, get me to the Bahamas. »

The machine started purring as he pulled one lever, and a slight whirring sound started around Bond. He kept his hand on the lever as he watched the coordinates shift as the spaceship moved around him. It would be so much easier if he'd figured out how to move in time, but sadly, he'd never learned how to do that. If he had, it would have been easier for him to do things, but unfortunately, learning all the functions of the TARDIS he now owned had not been part of his education.

As a little boy, during his first regeneration, he'd gone to Earth right after the first world war with his father to watch, like most Timelords did back then. They would go to important events in all of time and space and watch, not intervening. His father had wanted to teach him about the rise of a tyrant and wanted to show him about how a nation can burn itself from the inside.  
But that's when the Time War had happened, and his Father had used another Time Travelling device, a time vortex manipulator to go back to Gallifrey, promising his son that he would come back. The only problem was that events happening on Gallifrey ended up locking his father in the downfall of the planet and trapping his son on Earth.

So, he'd had to grow up, pretending to be a human. He'd taken up the name James Bond, when Andrew Bond and Monique Bond, born Delacroix, had decided to adopt him. He'd gotten himself into a human orphanage, after both his parents were killed in their home, when James had barely reached the age of 11 years old.

« You know, things would be a lot easier if you could travel in time, too. » Bond whispered to the machinery, which just buzzed back at him, heightening the lightning in the control room, before the whirring gently stopped, and a door opened on James' right side. He knew the TARDIS was just trying to comfort him, but when you've spent years, and years wondering about how and if the spaceship could ever travel in time, a little bit of comfort was the best thing to come out of said machine.

Leaving the control room, pulling all the levers up and turning a few buttons, including the blue stabilizers, James pulled himself onto the seat of the car that the TARDIS had chosen to hide itself as. The camouflage setting was still in working order and had been ever since James had gotten stuck on Earth when his father disappeared. He'd had to learn how to fly the ship on his own, and he had gone through his first regeneration with nobody to watch, even though he'd been 53 at the time. For a human, that was an advanced age, but for a Timelord, it was a relatively short time spent in one form. But ah, that form had given up – kidney failure and a developing lung cancer because of the heavy smoking – and he'd had to regenerate into a second skin.

Nothing can describe the feeling of all your organs giving up on you, slowly, but surely, and then, all of a sudden, everything is like new, and all you have is this new, sane body to use.

James looked around the car, guessing it to be a Ford Mondeo, before slipping back down to the control room, and through it, over to his clothing room, choosing a grey Tom Ford suit he'd gotten tailored a few weeks after he'd regenerated into this form, covering a white shirt. He pulled a pair of glasses from the glasses holder he had in the room; just as he walked back to the control room, the machine whirred softly, as if to greet his choice of clothing.

He pulled himself up to the seat of the car he now had, and pushed the key into the ignition, letting the inbuilt GPS guide him to the Ocean Club. The TARDIS had decided to appear in a parking lot, in a surveillance camera's dead end, and as Bond noticed that, he couldn't help but smile. « Good girl, » he whispered as he pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes.

It didn't take him long to drive all the way to the Ocean Club, and as he stepped out of the spaceship, he handed the keys to the valet. He knew that the TARDIS would act as a normal car to anybody who wasn't used to it.

As soon as he got out of the car, two girls, clothed for a tennis game, looked him over and smiled at him, lust in thier eyes. If he hadn't been here to find something, or at least someone, Bond would have followed both of them, just as he'd followed a lot of other women before, but he had something to do. He realised he'd left the grey jacket in the car, but he figured it didn't matter as he knelt to fake tying his shoes again, to get a look at the security cameras around him. Two, on top of the entrance. Good. It was video footage to look through, but he'd do it no matter the cost, he'd learned from his own experience that it was best to trust cameras rather than people. Besides, with the explosion of technology around him, he was grateful for it: it made it easier for him to work alone. He didn't like working with other people. Especially if they were men. He liked it better when he was teamed up with a woman. Much more interesting things could happen when he was paired with a woman.

« Hello. Are you going to take this or make me wait ? » Bond barely had the time to realise what was going on before a set of keys was thrown at him, and as he caught them, he answered what looked like a German tourist driving a big Range Rover Sport. « Certainly, sir. Sorry, sir. »  
It took a little while for him to figure out what to do, but once he was done and he got to the parking lot of the Hotel, before checking that his car – the Ford Mondeo – wasn't parked in the hurt zone, he used the Range Rover to bash in the fence and bang into a Jaguar and several other cars whose alarms went off immediately. He got out of the Range Rover and threw the keys over his shoulder, not caring one second about how the tourist would react to the loss of his keys – not his problem at all.

He walked the way back to the hotel, and soon found the room with the security footage – easily enough – beginning to go through the tapes, or rather, CD's, until he found what he was looking for. And, as if it was a trick from fate, it was a man who'd stepped out of an Aston Martin DB5 who received a text at exactly the time the one he had on his phone had been sent. Talk about a coincidence. How come it was always that same car which seemed to cross his path, wherever he went?

Time to get to know the owner of said car, and nothing said gossip better than a hotel receptionist. He got out of the security room, and walked over to the reception, where a lovely blonde girl looked up to him. She smiled. « Welcome to the Ocean Club, sir. Checking in? »  
Nodding in response, he answered. « Yes. But it's a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I haven't got a reservation. »

She nodded, as she stated « Okay, » before looking up at her computer screen, scrolling through the free rooms they currently had. « We have an ocean-view villa. »

Bond smiled back at her. « -Perfect, » before pausing and bending slightly forward to break the comfort zone between a regular customer and her, handing her his credit card, using his charms on her. « Could you do me a favor? I was here last night and I parked my car next to a very beautiful 1964 Aston Martin. I nicked the door. You wouldn't happen to know…? » he feigned, as the young woman nodded, knowing who he was talking about.

« Mr. Dimitrios. »

« Right. » Bond answered, nodding, as he looked back at her with an even bigger smile.

« If he hasn't noticed, I'm not sure I'd mention it. Isn't the type to take bad news well, » the young receptionist stated, her expression showing exactly what Bond had seen from the security footage : Mr. Dimitrios didn't seem like a regular man, and if he'd been the one to receive the text stating Ellipsis, then he had something to do with the bomb maker Bond had killed in Africa. However, he sttll needed something about this Dimitrios guy.

« But if I felt compelled to find him? » he asked, with a false sense of guilt showing on his face. The lady behind the desk smiled back at him, and answered his question.

« He has a house just up the beach. » She seemed to like his false actor's game, and he let his own answer linger for just a second before walking away from the reception. « Thank you. »  
Time to go get used to his surroundings was the first thing he thought, as he got his villa's keys, and went up to one of the shops to buy a blue pair of bathing shorts.

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**We all know how those blue bathing shorts made us drool in the movie theatre, right?**

**Now, next chapter'll be up when I get at least 5 reviews on this chapter, please? I really want to know if I should keep doing this or not. Let me know by reviewing, alright?**

**Lots of love,**

**skyfallat221b!**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Agent and his companions

**And here we have chapter 3! As promised, it's up after the 5 reviews on the previous chapter! It'll be the same for chapter 4, once I get five reviews on this story again :)**

**I'll try to incorporate more and more Timelord'ness in the story as we get deeper and deeper, I promise... For now, it's just the basics!**

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Half a day later, and one terrorist action settled, Bond found himself in a helicopter in the Bahamas – quite a ride from Miami Airport to the islands – back at the Ocean Club.

He jumped out of the helicopter as soon as it landed – wearing a black shirt and some greyish trousers as well as sunglasses – and went straight to the beach where he saw a body tangled into a hammock. He pulled his sunglasses off as he recognized Solange, strangled in the ropes.  
Not again, he thought, as he briefly remembered all the different girls he'd seen die after he'd slept with them. It was like a curse put on him; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been with a girl and she hadn't died. For Christ's sake, his wife had died the day of their marriage. She'd been killed, massacred, and Bond hadn't been able to do a thing about it.

This time, he just stood there, wondering what had happened. He heard M's footsteps before he heard her voice. He still couldn't believe what he was seeing. Her voice came through to him through a haze. "Quite the body count you're stacking up. She was tortured first. As you'd already killed her husband… she must have been the only one left to question." M paused, as Bond blinked twice, coming back down on Earth.

"Did she know anything that could compromise you?"

Bond took a little while to answer. Remembering she knew his full name. But not who he was working for. He wouldn't be stupid enough to play that card on her. "No."

"Not your name, what you were after?" M continued, and Bond answered in the same tone. "No."  
He sighed as the mortician's assistant took some pictures of the body, and as a police officer began to untangle it from the ropes, he turned his back to follow M inside the Ocean Club for further investigation and talks with his boss. M continued the debrief during their walk through the hotel. "Dimitrios worked as a middleman. Knew where to put his hands on weapons and people who could use them. He worked with anyone who had money. For years he was involved with a man we knew as Le Chiffre a private banker to the world's terrorists. He invested their money, gave them access to it wherever they wanted."

Bond simply followed, remembering what he'd done to Solange. He'd charmed her, then used her conversation with her husband to locate him, and then he'd left her with a bottle of champagne and some caviar to dine on her own while he left for Miami Airport. He felt slightly guilty, but if anything, he didn't allow his face to show how sad he felt for Solange. She probably had had no idea what was going on when Le Chiffre's people had run down the door to question her.  
M just went on again. "Oh, good. You're here," she stated as another man came up and joined them in their walk, a suitcase in his hand. "Albanian, we believe. Chess prodigy. A bit of a mathematical genius and liked to prove it by playing poker."

All the while she talked, Bond was asked to put up his arm. The man who had just joined them cleaned it with some alcohol, before using a sort of gun to inject something in to his arm. Bond feigned pain with an "Ow," before looking over at M, almost breathing the sarcasm through his nose and mouth. The machine in the suitcase then checked said arm to see that the little chip was indeed placed in his muscle tissue.

"So you can keep an eye on me?" Bond asked, looking up at the satisfied smile M had on her face.

"Yes," she simply answered in a half smile.

Bond smiled at the man with the suitcase who was packing up and joined M next to the pool of the Ocean Club.

M continued her debrief as if nothing had happened. "When they analyzed the stock market after 9/11 the CIA discovered a massive shorting of airline stocks. When the stocks hit bottom on 9/12, somebody made a fortune. The same thing happened this morning with Skyfleet stock or was supposed to. With their prototype destroyed, the company would be near bankruptcy. Instead, somebody lost over $ 100 million betting the wrong way."

She allowed a pause in which Bond found it would be nice to answer. "You think it's this man Le Chiffre." M simply nodded, before going on. "Which would explain how he could set up a high-stakes poker game at Casino Royale in Montenegro. Ten players, $ 10 million buy-in, 5 million re-buy. Winner takes all. Potentially 150 million." She stopped again, and Bond couldn't stop himself from a dry smile.

"Good. Then we'll know where he'll be. Do you want a clean kill or to send a message?" It would be easy enough to sneak up on him. Everybody knew it was easy for one man to sneak up on another.

"We want him alive. Le Chiffre doesn't have 100 million to lose." That caused a frown on Bond's face.

"Has he been playing the stock market with his clients' funds? They're not gonna be too happy when they find out it's gone," he commented, as he crossed his arms.

They both left the nearby of the pool and walked across Bond's ocean view villa back to the beach, where Solange's body had found its way into a body bag. "We can't let him win this game. If he loses, he'll have nowhere to run. We'll give him sanctuary in return for everything he knows. I'm putting you in the game replacing someone who's playing for a syndicate. According to Villiers, you're the best player in the Service. Trust me, I wish it wasn't the case." She paused as they hauled Solange's body onto a gurney, which caused something in Bond to stir. Why did Solange have to die? Why did any of the girls he ever slept with have to die such horrible deaths all the time? He couldn't help but feel guilt at the thought of it.

Instead, M caught his thoughts off guard. "I would ask you if you could remain emotionally detached but I don't think that's your problem, is it, Bond?" He took a little while to answer, his eyes still fixed on Solange's body. "No," was his only answer. M turned her back and took a few steps, before stopping up and turning around. "Don't worry about keeping in touch. We'll know where you are," she stated, pointing at his arm. Bond took the opportunity.

"You can stop pretending. You knew I wouldn't let this drop, didn't you?" he suggested, as he watched M's face to try and read her reaction. What he saw made him feel at ease.

"Well, I knew you were you," was M's answer, before leaving the grounds.

He wondered if M knew. He knew that the previous M had known about him and his, how did he say, condition, but he wondered if Emma knew. The Prime Minister certainly didn't know, he wasn't going to write him a letter like the wizarding world usually did. He knew Torchwood and UNIT had some ideas and some theories, but Bond had been too busy with MI6 to ever let the two units check him. Besides, they seemed to be well busy enough themselves, with their own issues and aliens.  
Bond liked human threats better, easier to take out. Well, easier… Less messy. He could always understand how a human mind could go so wrong so as to want to cause destruction through terrorism or want to extend world domination. From the files he'd hacked at Torchwood, some of the aliens they'd encountered wanted the same thing. The only difference was that Torchwood could fight off the aliens, sometimes with the help of what Bond knew to be another Timelord, and that he would rather take care of the scarred and disfigured humans who thought they were better than everybody else.

He was, how could you say, frightened? To contact this Doctor. He didn't want anything to do with him because it would cause him too many issues. He'd probably want to kill the other Timelord if it were up to him. So he liked to keep his Walther close and keep his eyes on the task before him.  
This time, it was getting to Montenegro using what he called the snail way. After all, they had just put a tracker on him, he wasn't going to use his TARDIS to get him anywhere. So, when M was gone, and he had some time, he went to the parking lot, and through his Ford Mondeo's driver's seat, slipped down to the control room and timed the machine to the Casino Royale in Montenegro. He knew she'd find her way, and she'd stay put until he came there.

But first, he had to get Tanner to find him a flight plan and to get there. The poker game was in a few days, just enough to get back to Europe and recover. Because, even if he was an alien with two hearts, he still suffered from jetlag…

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**In the coming chapters, we're going to play "find the hints", as I'm going to hint at several other fandoms (or at least try to). I'll tell you at the beginning of the chapter how many hints there are, and you can count them up in the comments/review section! **

**(There's already one fandom hint in this chapter, I guess you all figured it out, right? :D)**

**Love,**

**skyfallat221b.**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Agent and the chase

**And here we are again :3**

**I managed to write something not too long ago, and since I don't want you to wait for too long, I'm publishing it now. Hope you like it 3**

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"By the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever and actually think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such disdain my guess is you didn't come from money and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity, hence the chip on your shoulder. And since your first thought about me ran to orphan that's what I'd say you are."

Vesper Lynd had been amazing. She had been able to read him, through and through, almost as if she was unlocking locked doors in his mind, wanting to discover who he was underneath. At the time, he'd played along. But then she'd called him a cold hearted bastard. Not that he didn't deserve the term, he'd just hoped that maybe this one would be easy to work with.

It had proved quite difficult to get her to understand the game they were playing with Le Chiffre and the other terrorists involved. It had gone more or less well, her having as big an ego as he, but he'd enjoyed the game.

Well, that was until Le Chiffre tried to poison him, and one of his hearts had gone out, and she'd saved his life. He'd then won the poker game at the Casino with a straight flush, beating out Le Chiffre's full house, had something to eat to celebrate, realised Le Chiffre had kidnapped Vesper, taken his new Aston Martin DBS V12 on the road, been in a car-crash, been tortured and finally got saved by God knows who and woke up in a hospital near lake Como, knowing only that Mathis had something to do with Le Chiffre, eventually leading to his arrest.

Something had changed – he felt strangely infatuated with Mrs. Lynd, almost the same kind of infatuation he'd had with Tereza before Blofeld killed her on their wedding night. He'd promised himself he would never let himself love anybody after that incident, but he couldn't keep himself from admitting the fact that he was in love with Vesper, and that she was equally in love with him. Her insult, calling him a cold-hearted bastard was long-forgotten when he wrote his resignation letter to MI-6, telling them to basically fuck off and let him be.

And that had lasted a long while, until they ended up in Venice, and some of Le Chiffre's henchmen had figured out a way to get to Vesper, and ended up killing her. Well. She'd killed herself.

And that had been the time where he'd contacted MI-6 again. Or, rather, he'd contacted M. To debrief the mission, and tell them that his resignation letter was to be burnt immediately.

"If you do need time..." he remembered M asking, over the phone, after talking about the past mission. But he hadn't left her time to finish her sentence.

"Why should I need more time? The job's done, and the bitch is dead."

It was probably better to act as if he had never let it become personal. Not in the slightest. But he had. He'd been stupid enough to let her get close to his hearts, beyond his armor. He'd even thought about telling her about his two hearts, about showing her what his car could do. He'd wanted to hope that maybe, just maybe, she would've understood what it meant like to be different and have nobody else like you. He'd wished for someone to understand, and maybe she would have. But she didn't. Because she stabbed him in the back, and she broke all his hope of ever finding true love again.

M must have sensed his feelings, because she hadn't hung up at the time. "Jame did you ever ask yourself why you weren't killed that night? Isn't it obvious? She made a deal to spare your life in exchange for the money. I'm sure she hoped they would let her live. But she must have known she was going to her death. And now we'll never know who was behind this. The trail's gone cold."

He'd hung up. He'd hung up, and had almost thrown her belongings into the sea, when he thought of one last thing. He had to check her mobile phone. He just had to. He got a tingling sense that maybe, just maybe, she would've left him a clue of what was happening or what was going on. Why? He never figured it out. But when he unlocked the phone, and saw that she'd left him a message with a phone number, he chose to take it up.

He managed to track the number, using the tracking device in the TARDIS. He entered the numbers, and watched the different information come up from several secret agencies' databases: MI-6, CIA, FBI, IMF, SHIELD, but nothing of importance came up. Except one file from SHIELD, that one Hawkeye had written a few months before, which stated that Mr. White had been handling with some other terrorists in a bigger plan.

James decided to take matters into his own hands, not caring about international relationships, not caring about what was wrong and what was right: this Mr. White had broken something inside him, had let his heart rot, and James was going to do something about it. He didn't know exactly what, but he was going to do something.

He tracked Mr. White down. Figured some little clues out: Danish citizenship, house near the coast in Italy.

Eventually, he setteld down in the garden of that beautiful Italian mansion, a kalachnikov in hand, and waited for Mr. White to come home. When his car finally came around, Bond decided to play this card, his only card, to figure out what was going on, and how and why Le Chiffre had been killed, why Vesper had died, and how MI-6 had been unable to predict any of this before. He dialled Mr. White's number, and waited.

"Hello," was the first thing he heard.

"Mr. White? We need to talk." He didn't say his name, who he was, where he was, or what he wanted. Just that they needed to talk. It probably caused Mr. White to wonder, because not three seconds later, he asked him "Who is this?", but Bond never allowed more time, because he shot White in the foot, causing him to fall over, into the dirt, and scream out in pain.

He waited for a few seconds, watching as White tried to climb up the stairs, trying to get to either a phone or a red button, but he never allowed White to get further than just the steps. He crept out of the shadows, and stood above him, gun in one hand, phone in the other, a sly smile on his face. "The name's Bond. James Bond."

And with no second thought, he grabbed White, cuffed his hands together, and dragged him over the ground, not caring about how much he screamed in fear or in wrath, not caring a second about what other people would think, not caring who would hear or see. He never once asked White to shut up, he never asked anything. He just dragged him across the ground, until they both reached his black Aston Martin.

Bond opened the trunk, watching as White squirmed on the floor, like a worm trying to get away.

"They already know, Bond," White sneered through gritted teeth. "They know who you are, and what you've done. You won't get away with-"

He never finished his sentence, because James had violently yanked his foot into his face, knocking him unconscious. "Let them come. I'm ready for a challenge," he whispered at White's ear, all the while he pulled him from the floor, and rolled him into the trunk, closing it with a loud thud, looking at his surroudings, knowing someone was watching.

As he sat behind the steering wheel, knowing he had to get to Siena in Italy, he heard an engine roar somewhere near enough. A smile crept onto his face, as he turned the ignition on and let the engine scream, backing out of the courtyard, and onto an empty road.

Or so he thought.

Because not five seconds later, two black Alfa Romeo's appeared in his mirrors, and he heard the familiar sound of gunshots.

The chase was on.

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**I have an idea of how this fic's going to move on, but at the same time, I have no idea about it. Let me know what you think of it?**

**(Also, now we're done with Casino Royale, and Quantum's just getting started. Things should get more interesting when I reach the Skyfall timeline and what's further from that :D)**


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